Changing Faces
by The-Jellybaby-Bandit
Summary: Lucius is languishing in Azkaban following the events of The DoM. With escape unlikely and hope of rescue diminishing, might a new cellmate offer him a chance at redemption. HP/LM. SPOILERS: Up to Book 5. Rated M just to be on the safe side.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and I own nothing, nor do I make any profit from this story. Please don't sue me!**

**A/N: This work is something of a departure from my usual writing. In fact it's my first attempt anything other than Glee based fanfiction. I would ask that you read with an open mind, I wrote this initial chapter just on a whim. I still intend to write Glee fiction too, however this scenario has been rattling around in my brain and I just had to get it down on paper.**

SPOILERS: Story picks up after The Department of Mysteries battle at the end of Book Five. Everything up to that point will be treated as Canon though I reserve the right to deviate from then on in. It will be HP/LM though I'm undecided as yet whether it will be in terms of slash fiction or whether it will be a pupil/mentor relationship. Judging from my prior writings, I'd likely lean towards the former, but I'm just not sure if it'll materialise at this point. Also there will be WeasleyBashing and DumbledoreBashing - Ron Weasley stands to take a pounding, I just don't like him.

Anyways, enough rambling from me and on with the story.

Changing Faces by The Jellybaby Bandit

Chapter One: Beginnings

* * *

><p>The sound of a storm raging outside was the first thing that filtered into his mind as he regained consciousness. But then there was always a storm raging outside. He'd been here - well actually he had absolutely no idea how long he'd been here - but it had certainly been long enough to establish that 'stormy' was very much the norm.<p>

His aching limbs protested as he heaved himself up from his position lying foetal on a thin straw mat, to end up sitting upright and using the cold, damp wall as a backrest. He drew his legs up to his chest in an attempt to fight off the chill in the air, and the damp which was seeping through the rags hanging loosely from his ever-thinning frame.

What he'd give for a heating charm right about now. If he wasn't so proud he'd beg one of the guards, but experience had taught him that even attempting to speak to a guard would result in a beating. And his ankle had ached terribly since the last time.

It was a rule of Azkaban, you learned fast or you died fast. He had no intention of dying. Not for a good long while.

* * *

><p>As his mind once again turned to pondering his fate, a scowl formed on his face. A face which all in the wizarding world would have recognised and would have, at one time, either respected or feared. And with good reason.<p>

He was Lord Lucius Abraxus Malfoy; scion of House Malfoy; a pureblood wizard of repute. Powerful. Influential. Unmatched.

Or at least he used to be.

Now he was _this_. A prisoner. Dressed in rags and no more respected within these walls than a common House Elf. Less so in fact.

_'How the mighty have fallen huh Lucy?'_

"Shut up...", he mumbled as he hugged his knees to his chest. He could feel the heat of his fever warring with the cold of the ambient temperature and knew that sickness in this place could end him just as easily as a guard or a Dementor. There was nothing he could do however, there was an emergency infirmary on one of the upper levels, but to ask to go - for him to ask to go - no, he was too proud. He'd rather die than beg some mudblood Auror for treatment.

Lucius let his head fall back against the cool stone as he tried to ignore the taunting voice in his head. The voice had appeared shortly after his first exposure to the Dementors; though Lucius had no idea how long ago that actually was. Time didn't work quite the same way in Azkaban as it did elsewhere. Existence tended to meld into one amorphous blob only broken up by infrequent meals and all too frequent visits from the skeletal prison guards.

Quite why the voice in his head was that of Sirius Black, his wife's cousin, he had no idea. He cursed the fates though.

* * *

><p>Thoughts of Black of course, led Lucius to thinking of the reason for his incarceration.<p>

Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Die.

His Master had instructed that he take twelve of his inner circle and retrieve the Prophecy stored in the Department of Mysteries. Gaining access to the Department hadn't been difficult. One quick Confundus charm on Eric, the ever-present attendant at the Ministry's front entrance and the group of black-cloaked Death Eaters had been able to simply take the main elevator down to the correct level.

Ministry security really had become lax since the fall of the Dark Lord and the constant denials from the Minister himself of the return of his Master meant nothing had been improved of increased to counter the growing threat. Of course, Lucius himself had played no small part in that, counselling the Minister with regards to policy. The man really was pathetic, the things he would do in order to have his pockets lined with Galleons, he was no better than a Muggle whore.

But he was their Minister, and he was pliable, an unwitting puppet on a string. Which was exactly the way Lucius, and his Master liked him.

Bella had of course wanted to kill Eric. She had been half-way through casting the Killing Curse when Lucius had stayed his sister-in-law's hand. It would have served no advantage to draw attention to their being there by killing everyone they came across. Not that Bellatrix ever appreciated such subtlety, she was much more a kill now, don't bother asking questions later kind of person.

He had spread out his team throughout the Hall of Prophecies and they had simply lain in wait for the unsuspecting teenager to appear. And appear he did just as the Dark Lord had promised.

* * *

><p>But things had not gone according to plan. And Potter hadn't been alone.<p>

Throughout the school year, Draco had been reporting to Lucius on the miserable excuse for a Defence Professor teaching at Hogwarts. Owl post was of course being screened and so Lucius had provided his son with a journal, of which a twin was kept in the drawer of his desk in his study at Malfoy Manor. Whatever Draco reported by writing into his copy of the journal was instantly duplicated in the other.

Of course, that stupid Parkinson girl hadn''t known that when she had written out a 'love letter' to his son before tearing the page out. Though part of him was proud of his son's apparent virility - that boded well for when providing an heir to the Malfoy line became a priority - reading about how Parkinson wanted his son to anally violate a mudblood whilst the girl watched was not exactly his cup of tea. He himself had done much worse of course in the service of his Lord, but it was still his son being talked about.

Draco had kept him well informed during the school year and had followed his instructions to be of assistance to the new Professor. Delores Umbridge was a particularly odious woman, there was no doubting that, but she was influential within the Ministry and she had the ear of the Minister. It would behoove the Malfoy family to ensure that she was kept on side, for at least as long as she served a useful purpose.

Lucius shuddered, this time not from the cold, as his mind's eye pictured exactly how Delores had gained such favour with Fudge. It was enough to make even the most stout stomach do flips and threaten to empty its' contents. Even just imagining what lay beneath those putrefyingly awful pink sweaters had caused many a good man to attempt self-obliviation - Lucius reluctantly had to admire Fudge's constitution in that regard. Lucius had done a lot of distasteful things in his time, but even he did not consider he would be able to do himself, what the Minister had done.

* * *

><p>The Death Eaters had not expected that Potter and his band of merry brats would have posed any kind of threat to them - they had in fact, been overconfident. After all they were Death Eaters - the Dark Lord's chosen few. The sheep knew when they saw them appear to simply lay down their wands and accept their fate.<p>

Except, Potter hadn't apparently been kept informed of the proper etiquette; yet another failing in letting half-bloods into Hogwarts; he had fought back.

* * *

><p>Lucius had to admit, however begrudgingly that Potter had fought well, regardless of how limited his spell choices were. The damned teen and his friends had fought much more effectively than a good many of his compatriots had much to Lucius' chagrin. Lucius had no doubt in his mind that by being captured he had managed to escape being severely disciplined by the Dark Lord for his failure. Lucius had after all hand-picked his associates for the mission and his Master did not respond well to the failure of his followers.<p>

And failed they had. Utterly.

They had been detained by the blasted Order of the Phoenix, arrested by the Aurors, convicted by the Wizengamot and imprisoned in Azkaban. And on this occasion no claims of having been under the effects of the Imperious curse and no amount of gold paid into the Minister's retirement fund was able to bring about resultant freedom for any of the Death Eaters.

_'Just can't be done Lucius...", said Fudge twisting his bowler hat in his hands nervously as the blonde glared at him from across the holding cell table, "... as much as I appreciate your contributions, you've dug yourself into a hole I can't get you out of. Political suicide to try, you understand.'_

Lucius' had growled out a few threats to the Minister who had for once displayed a hint of backbone, most likely because he knew that the chances of acquittal were remote.

_'"Now now Lucius, such threats made to the Minister of Magic...", said Fudge a devious glint in his eye, "... could result in a few extra years being added on to your sentence..."_

_"A few years added to life imprisonment is no real addition at all Minister...", said Lucius his tone even and frosty despite his disadvantage._

_"Quite...", said Fudge as he stood and brushed down his robes, "... still, it can't hurt to be overly cautious now can it?..."_

Lucius wasn't sure ultimately whether Fudge had followed through on his threat or not. His use of the Unforgiveables, recorded by the damn wards at the Department of Mysteries and matched to his wand signature, had already driven the last nail into his coffin. Had he escaped, he could have disposed of his second wand and gotten away with it, unfortunately that solution had been denied him when he'd been struck by Dumbledore's Incarcerous curse and captured.

All because of Potter.

* * *

><p>Lucius' mind slipped momentarily to the only one of their group to have successfully escaped the Ministry that night. Bellatrix Lestrange.<p>

His sister-in-law, though ferocious in a wand fight was unstable and unpredictable. Her inclusion in his operation had been a calculated gamble. Lucius had foolishly believed that he would be able to keep the crazy bitch on a leash where she belonged. He'd failed in that regard rather spectacularly.

* * *

><p>A whimper escaped him as a passing Dementor paused at his cell door and seemed to evaluate his delectability for a short snack. The best that Lucius had been able to do thus far to protect himself, was to bring his Occlumency barriers to the fore. Being able to suppress his emotions to their most basic levels, didn't stop the Dementors from feeding on him, but at the very least it meant the accompanying nightmares weren't quite as bad as they otherwise would have been.<p>

'_Aww... does Lucy have bad dreams?'_

"Shut up...", grumbled Lucius as the Dementor floated silently by the door. The hellish prison guards didn't understand the spoken word as far as Lucius was aware, but for a moment it appeared that the Dementor was studying him before it turned and floated off down the hallway out of sight.

Lucius knew that despite his Occlumency and an iron will, that he was on the verge of cracking. He could feel a little bit more of his sanity slipping away from him every time the Dementors came to feast upon him. He knew of course how Black had managed to keep hold of questionable sanity whilst imprisoned in this hell hole, but Lucius had never been good with transfiguration and the Animagus transformation had always eluded him. He knew his form of course, he took the potion in his sixth year at Hogwarts along with everyone else in his class, he'd just never been able to transform.

* * *

><p>What made being trapped in this cell even worse, was knowing that his Lord would likely not be coming for him. Lucius was all too aware that his allegiance to the Dark Lord had been subject of some debate since his return to corporeal form. His Master had begun making more and more demands of the Malfoy Estate, draining more and more of their resources, seemingly pushing and probing to see exactly how far he would be able to push his follower.<p>

Lucius was not alone in such scrutiny of course. Rookwood, Mulciber and Goyle, had all had their assets seized by their Lord in order to fund his campaign and were now effectively impoverished. Hundreds of years of pureblood financial superiority wiped out in an instant, leaving them in some cases less well off than some half-blood or mudblood families. It was something that didn't sit right with Lucius, not that he was intent upon arguing the point with his Lord.

The only thing that had in the end, prevented the Malfoy fortune from following in the same vein was that most of the funds were either tied up in shares or rested abroad with Gringotts in Carcassonne from where the Malfoy family historically hailed.

It was a little known fact in the wizarding world that Gringotts, the Goblin bank, was not a unified financial institution. Rather each branch of the institution was owned and operated by a different Goblin clan. Thankfully for the Malfoy fortune, the current clans operating the Gringotts in Diagon Alley and the Gringotts in Carcassonne were in a state of detente following extended battles for financial superiority in mainland France during the Muggle war of the 1940's. As such transferring large sums of Galleons from one branch to another was impossible, thereby sparing the Malfoys from the indignity of being rendered insolvent by the Dark Lord.

No, his Lord was well aware of the financial restrictions being imposed by the Goblins and would likely not wish to expend any resources in bringing him back into the fold.

Lucius was therefore left with little options available to him. He could not recant from being a Death Eater. He did not wish to recant from being a Death Eater. His ideals remained the same, he still wished to see a Pureblood society rise to rule over magical Britain. A world where mudbloods and half-bloods would know their place; and would respect their betters.

However, he was beginning to doubt that he would ever see such a thing come to pass.

When he had initially joined the Death Eaters that had been their stated goal. Lucius was a second-generation Death Eater, just like Avery and Carrow. His Father, Abraxus Malfoy had been a contemporary of the Dark Lord during his initial rise to power serving as second in command to the Dark Lord Grindelwald. After the defeat of Grindelwald at the hands of Albus Dumbledore, his Father had sheltered the Dark Lord within one of the Malfoy families properties on the Continent until such time as the furore had died down.

When his Lord had risen to accept the mantle of the fallen Grindelwald, his Father had come to him and spoken passionately about segregation, about the favouring of the half-blood and mudbloods over the Purebloods. He had spoken at length to Lucius about 'The Mudblood Problem'. About the threat posed to the wizarding world by not standing bastion against the growing tide. Abraxus had outlined for Lucius his belief that if If they did not act now, that their culture, their beliefs, their way of life would be eradicated by the infestation that was the Mudblood infection of the wizarding world.

Lord Voldemort agreed with their agenda, believed in the purity of the Pureblood agenda and had agreed to champion it above all others.

And Lucius had been swept up in the resultant euphoria. He had witnessed for himself the growing influx of the mudbloods into their society, with their mudblood mannerisms and customs. If left unchecked it would only have been a matter of time before the Pureblood culture was eradicated and that could not be allowed to come to pass. The wizarding world had endured for over one thousand years, back to before the founding of Hogwards based upon Pureblood ideals. It could not be allowed to simply erode away before the growing tide of mudblood values.

The line had to be drawn, and the Dark Lord had promised to draw it.

* * *

><p>Now however, Lucius did not know. The Dark Lord had been verging on the maniacal ever since his return. Gone was the charismatic orator who had enraptured the Pureblood factions with his rhetoric, to be replaced with a less than human dark-magic construct that revelled in death and destruction.<p>

Death and destruction were means to an end, but increasingly with the Dark Lord, they were becoming the be all and end all. In the early days of his rise to power, the Revels had been perhaps once or twice a year, they would gather and celebrate the superiority of Pureblood. Since the return of the Dark Lord at the end of the preceiding year, there had been six Revels, each one increasingly violent and bloody and mentioning nothing of the rhetoric for which many of the Death Eaters had initially joined their Master's ranks.

Lucius was beginning to doubt his Master envisioned the same magical Britain that he did when he closed his eyes at night.

* * *

><p>The echoing sound of heavy boots marching, from outside of his cell drew Lucius out of his thoughts long enough to realise that an Auror detail was approaching. Lucius knew from experience that unscheduled visitations from the on duty Aurors meant nothing good for him. At best he could look forward to being referred to as vermin and spat upon, at worst, well it didn't bear thinking about. He pondered the possibilities enough in his nightmares.<p>

Lucius let his head loll to the side and closed his eyes feigning sleep or catatonia at the sound of a heavy lock on the cell door being disengaged. Aging hinges that did not see enough use wailed painfully at being asked now to swing the cast iron door open to allow entry.

"Hey Malfoy...", called a nasal voice that Lucius recognised as one of the young Aurors, Spindlewood or Spinningtop or some such - names didn't amount to much in prison, "... wake up, we've got a present for you..."

Lucius knew feigning sleep would not fool the Auror and that it would likely only invite a swift kick or punch for his ignorance. He cracked open an eye and took in the sight of the slender bundle wrapped up in a tatty travelling cloak hanging suspended between the arms of the pair of Aurors.

"Hurry up Spinnet...", said the older Auror who appeared to be supporting the bulk of the weight of the prisoner, Lucius filed the younger Auror's name away in his memory in case it came in useful at a later juncture, "... little bastard's heavy..."

"Well chuck him on the floor then...", said Spinnet as he gestured towards the second straw mat positioned on the opposite wall from Lucius own.

The pair of Aurors entered the cell proper, dragging their cargo between them. Lucius glanced at the still open doorway, likely his only route to freedom. As if sensing his thoughts, a dark shadow, previously unnoticed, passed over the doorway and Lucius twitched as he hurriedly reinforced his Occlumency barriers. There would be no escape through the door at least, not with a Dementor blocking the way at the very least.

The second prisoner had by now been unceremoniously dropped onto what would undoubtedly become his bed for the next, however long. Lucius posited that it would likely be a long time if he were being incarcerated in the same cell as him.

"There you go Malfoy, one lowlife piece of trash deserves another...", said Spinnet as the Aurors stepped back outside and the door was hauled back into place with a reverberating clang.

Lucius could hear the retreating voices of the Aurors as they laughed over some joke before they left earshot entirely. He was aware still of the presence of the Dementor, still standing sentinel outside of his cell - _their_ cell now - he supposed.

Finally the Dementor seemed to lose interest in its quarry and floated off and Lucius sighed with relief as he relaxed his Occlumency barriers. Lucius extended his legs, which had started to cramp as a sharp voice spoke in warning from under the travelling cloak in the corner.

"Don't even think about coming near me. I'll rip your bollocks off and feed them to you."

Lucius didn't deign to respond to such a crude threat and simply raised an eyebrow as the figure righted itself - _himself_, Lucius realised as the voice had definitely been male - and leant up against the wall opposite.

A grumbling noise escaped the figure as Lucius watched impassively whilst he attempted to unfasten the cloak with fingers which were clearly numb from the cold and not responding as they should.

Letting out a frustrated growl, the figure dropped his hands to his lap before reaching for the cowl of his hood and pushing it back.

"Hello Lucius..."

Lucius wasn't able to hold back the snort of disbelief as he took in the face opposite him. There sat, with a black eye and a split lip, the saviour of the wizarding world.

"Potter."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Well there we go. Chapter One of what I have no doubt will be a multi-chapter fic. I will only be writing it as the fancy takes me so I warn you now that updates might be sporadic. But then, new projects tend to get my more creative juices flowing so I might end up updating faster than I think, you never know. **

**Please feel free to leave me any reviews you like. I always welcome your comments and suggestions. **

**Until next time. Au Revoir.**

**TJB**

**PLEASE REVIEW**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and I own nothing, nor do I make any profit from this story. Please don't sue me! **

**A/N: This is chapter two of my foray into Harry Potter fanfiction. It's a little weird from my perspective, there are no songs for a start, which is really hard to adjust to. For some reason I just want Harry and Lucius to burst into song in the middle of Azkaban. Maybe with a chorus line of high-kicking Dementors? For some reason I have the image of Umbridge singing "Happy Birthday" in a Marilyn Monroe style to Fudge - *shudder* **

**I also hope I'm getting the character's 'voices' right. I've been told that the answer to that is no and that it's very OOC, especially in relation to Dumbledore, but then I can't seem to do anything about it. Sorry.**

**Changing Faces by The Jellybaby Bandit**

**Chapter Two: Reflections**

* * *

><p>"Harry Potter you have been found guilty as charged. You will be taken from this place, directly to Azkaban prison where you will spend the remainder of your days. Aurors take him away."<p>

Harry blinked in stupefaction as Fudge delivered the unanimous verdict of the Wizengamot and his gavel had sounded against the bench. Harry cast a glance to Umbridge who had cleared her throat to draw his attention.

"You won't be needing this anymore..."

In front of his eyes, with a wide smile on her toad-like face, Madam Umbridge bent Harry's wand until the wood splintered and snapped, a short fizzle of magical energy signifying the death of his companion.

Harry could feel the blossoming pain of loss in his chest and if his arms had not been shackled they would have been either rubbing directly over his heart or wrapped around the neck of the toad-woman trying to squeeze the life from her. To a wizard a wand was not simply a tool. Like Olivander was famous for saying, the wand chose the wizard, and there was a certain symbiosis that developed between a wizard and his foci. So much so that when the foci was destroyed, the wizard would feel the loss most profoundly.

What had just happened? No wait, he knew exactly what had happened - he'd just been royally screwed by the Wizarding world. Again.

The chains biting into his wrists and ankles suddenly released and his body sagged in relief. Barely a split second later however rough hands grabbed at his upper arms and hauled him upright causing him to wince.

"Let's go Potter - the Dementors are excited to see you again...", said a gruff voice from the Auror on his right as yet more shackles were attached to his wrists binding them tighter than before.

Harry didn't resist as he was unceremoniously dragged from the Courtroom, the silencing charm placed over the Gallery giving the entire tableau an eerie silent quality with the only noise coming from the clinking of his bindings.

* * *

><p>No more than a few minutes later, Harry found himself portkeyed to the dockside in some non-descript location. The half-moon overhead was shrouded in cloud leaving only the lights of a small muggle fishing vessel on the horizon as the only non-magical source of light.<p>

"Move..."

Harry stumbled as his foot caught in the edge of the travelling cloak slung around his shoulders. It was far too long for him, by at least a foot, but it was the only thing at that point sheltering Harry from the bitingly cold wind.

He cautiously stepped from the jetty and onto the rickety barge that served as the Azkaban prison transport. Taking in the condition of the vessel, Harry was half expecting the boat to list and begin sinking immediately. In his entire life, Harry had only been on one boat before; the boat that Hagrid had hijacked when he'd rescued him from the Dursleys on his eleventh birthday. Harry was starting to think that wizards didn't know of the existence of boats built after the 18th century.

A random thought occurred to Harry as the Auror attached the end of his shackles to a large metal ring on the floor of the boat - how exactly did the Dursleys get back to shore if Hagrid took the boat? Did they swim?

The prison barge looked like it was older than Hogwarts itself and was likely only kept afloat by the runes etched into the ancient wood. Harry shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench beneath him. He had never studied Ancient Runes and so didn't understand exactly what they did; other than that they enchanted objects to do certain tasks. In hindsight, taking Divination with Ron for an easy life, instead of Ancient Runes with Hermione for the sake of learning something useful, had been a mistake.

There was no point in beating himself up over it now though. It wasn't as though it mattered any whether he knew Runes or not. Azkaban hardly had an entrance exam. As for Divination, well the only thing Harry could predict with any certainty for his future were Dementors. Lots of Dementors.

Harry snorted at the irony. His first accurate Divination prediction and Professor Trelawney wasn't there to see it.

As the barge was pushed away from the jetty, the Aurors exchanged worried glances as Harry's snorting gave way to full-fledged laughter.

* * *

><p>The journey over the water to Azkaban seemed to take forever. After Harry had collected himself after his slight breakdown he'd used the solitude to take stock of what had just happened and of where he found himself.<p>

He was tired. That was the main thing he'd come to realise.

Tired of the lies.

Tired of the manipulation.

Tired of the hypocrisy.

So he'd used an Unforgivable. It wasn't as though it actually worked. Intent was the root of all magic or so Professor McGonnagal so often reminded them during Transfiguration classes, so surely if it didn't work then he didn't intend for it to work. Right?

Well apparently that logic didn't work as a defence in a criminal trial.

Stupid Wizengamot.

Stupid Fudge.

* * *

><p>The trial itself had been far too short and unfortunately for Harry, a stark reminder of just how fickle the people of the wizarding world could be.<p>

Harry had expected of course, that the Ministry would be against him and would want to see him sent to Azkaban. The campaign launched by the Ministry upon Voldemort's return to discredit him was clear evidence of that. But even he hadn't expected that it would be quite as one-sided as it had turned out to be. That was probably all Fudge's doing.

Fudge. Harry growled low in his throat at the memory of the smug expression on the face of the Minister for Magic.

Fudge had been almost euphoric at the chance to finally put him into Azkaban, but then the entire trial had been a farce from start to finish. Harry had been kneeling in the garden at Privet Drive pulling weeds from the flowerbed with his hands, when they'd come for him.

Aurors.

An even dozen of them, had apparated directly into Privet Drive, something which Dumbledore had claimed to be impossible. As it turned out, the effectiveness of the blood wards was just one more lie or omission to add to Dumbledore's tally.

Bastard.

In addition to the twelve Aurors, all with their wands out, Harry had noted both Minister Fudge and former-Professor Umbridge. Some might have called fourteen people to apprehend an underage wizard overkill but then logic and wizards was like oil and water. Harry hadn't given it any thought at the time, but the supposed guard from the Order made no attempt to intervene.

"You've done it now Potter...", the Minister said whilst gleefully rubbing his hands together, "... Auror Dawlish take him into custody."

Harry hadn't been able to react fast enough as a bolt of red light had slammed into his side, sending him tumbling face first into his Aunt's Azaleas. Had Petunia Dursley not been out at tea with her friends, Harry was in no doubt that she would have shouted at him for leaving an imprint of his face in the soil.

Of course, it wouldn't have made much difference had Harry reacted with his usual Seeker's reflexes. His Uncle Vernon had confiscated his wand the moment they'd gotten back from Kings Cross and it had been locked securely in a strongbox under his and his Aunt Petunia's bed.

It had been all Harry could do at the time to prevent the walrus-moustached man from locking Hedwig back into her cage for another summer, or worse. Thankfully Harry had been able to move quickly enough to relinquish his wand to his Uncle but to simultaneously open the window and allow Hedwig to escape to the Weasleys.

Of course his Uncle hadn't been pleased with that turn of events, but two days without any food was a price Harry had been prepared to pay.

* * *

><p>The Aurors on board the prison transport were giving him a wide berth now. It appeared that his laughing hysterically whilst being carted off to Azkaban had made them nervous. Of course, they also believed that he was guilty of having tortured Bellatrix Lestrange to death, so Harry supposed he couldn't really blame them.<p>

Didn't matter that he hadn't of course.

Harry woke up after being stunned by Dawlish in a Ministry holding cell. He groggily blinked his eyes and tried to focus as he became aware of Umbridge staring at him through the small window from the other side of the heavy cast-iron, and magic resistant door.

"Well well Mr Potter... it seems your dark tendencies are even more pronounced than I had been reporting to Cornelius. Use of an Unforgivable... tut tut... and murder, oh dear... Bellatrix Lestrange all the same but murder is murder..."

Harry's jaw dropped open at that. They thought that he'd killed Bellatrix Lestrange? Really? An involuntary smile graced Harry's face at the thought of putting paid to the woman that had killed Sirius. Still smiling at the thought, Harry replied,

"Bellatrix is dead?..."

"As if you don't know Potter...", replied Umbridge a sour expression developing on her face seeing that Harry happy and smiling and not angry and defensive as she'd hoped.

"As much as I like the thought of a dead Bellatrix, I'll have to disappoint you Madam Umbitch...", Harry's smile intensified as the woman began to purple - antagonising her was probably a bad idea but Harry couldn't resist, "... I didn't kill anyone..."

Umbridge had taken a deep breath and set her jaw as if about to start screaming at him before she recovered herself,

"Oh there's no point in denying it _boy_...", it was now Harry's turn to glare at his former Professor clearly she'd been taking lessons from his Uncle Vernon - Harry hated being called boy, "... it was all recorded by the Ministry wards... You tortured Bellatrix Lestrange to death by way of the Cruciatus curse... then You-Know-Who returned her body to the Ministry by portkey, so you could stand trial as you should... I imagine you'll enjoy Azkaban, perhaps we'll give you the same cell used by Sirius Black..."

Harry had glared at the cell door for minutes after Madam Umbridge had left. Merlin he hated that woman.

* * *

><p>The trial was held in the basement of the Ministry building, in the now overly familiar setting of Courtroom Ten. Harry had been kept in isolation since his arrest, with only a short visit from Tonks, when she'd passed him Remus' travelling cloak, as contact with the outside world.<p>

Harry had waited patiently half-expecting to meet with Dumbledore or Mr Weasley or even a defence law wizard assigned by the Wizengamot to discuss his case but nobody came. But then nobody came the last time he had been hauled before the Wizengamot either - at least not until the trial had actually started.

A indistinct amount of time later, they'd sent for him, bundled him through a side door and into Courtroom Ten. Harry had once again taken a seat in the imposing defendant's chair and the chains had snapped up to hold him in place biting into his flesh given his lack of clothing.

Harry wasn't surprised to see that he was before a full sitting of the Wizengamot and that as with the last time he was tried, that Minister Fudge was presiding aided by Senior-Undersecretary Umbridge and Amelia Bones, the Head of the DMLE.

Harry sat calmly in the chair and waited for proceedings to get underway, confident that the truth would be revealed. One of the things that he had taken on board since events at the Ministry a few weeks prior had been of the danger of letting his emotions rule his actions. Harry had made himself a promise not to let his heart rule his head any longer and to keep a level head at all times.

And so it was that he sat in Courtroom Ten with a smile on his face awaiting the start of the trial. Any other teenager in the world facing the full Wizengamot and a murder trial would have been scared, Harry remained serene.

Harry craned his neck around to see the Gallery and spy his friends, Ron and Ginny each sitting beside each other on one side of the Gallery whilst Remus and Tonks sat on the other. Separating the foursome was what appeared to be half the staff of the Daily Prophet, each armed with a Dicta-quill going full speed despite nothing actually having happened yet. Harry's took in the stony expressions on both Ron and Ginny's faces and his heart warmed to think that they were angry on his behalf at the Ministry.

As Minister Fudge banged his gavel to commence proceedings Harry noted that conspicuous by his absence remained the Chief Warlock. Harry assumed however that like last time this would be because they did not want the Headmaster defending him. He was therefore confident that Dumbledore would arrive just in the knick of time, as he always did.

Umbridge cleared her throat, drawing attention to herself as she took great pleasure in reading out the charges and the sentence being requested by the Ministry Prosecutor. Life imprisonment in Azkaban didn't sound like a picnic but Harry wasn't worried.

'Dumbledore will be here...', Harry told himself, '... he can't afford not to be here...'

And that was the truth of the matter. Harry was too valuable to Dumbledore now thanks to the Prophecy for the old man to risk having him rot away in Azkaban for a phony crime.

'Half-phony...", his conscience reminded him - but Harry pushed that aside, that was just semantics.

* * *

><p>By the time Minister Fudge prompted the prosecutor to begin, Harry realised that the Ministry had no intention of providing him with counsel and that Dumbledore not only was late to the prom, but was nowhere to be found.<p>

The first feelings of dread began to penetrate Harry's calm exterior - who would defend him if not Dumbledore?

The first witnesses were called and Harry sat impassively through testimony from an Unspeakable - never identified by name and who remained hidden from view behind the shrouded cowl of his cloak. He or she, had analysed the wards at the Ministry following the battle and had identified Harry's wand as the wand which had cast the Cruciatus curse on Bellatrix Lestrange - technically true but untrue just the same.

The Unspeakable was followed in short order by a mediwitch from St Mungos who gave testimony as to the effects of the Cruciatus and of the level of pain and suffering that would have to have been endured by Bellatrix before she finally succumbed to the torture.

Harry was neither given leave nor opportunity to question either witness or to defend himself.

As the mediwitch stepped down from the witness podium the prosecutor shuffled his notes and at Minister Fudge's urging called his final witness.

"The prosecution calls Albus Percival Wolfric Brian Dumbledore..."

* * *

><p>A flash of Phoenix fire greeted the summons as Fawkes deposited the Headmaster at the centre of the room. Whispered mutterings echoed from the Gallery as Fawkes let out a trill before disappearing once again in a burst of fire.<p>

The Headmaster glanced up at the assembled Gallery before he moved to take his seat in the witness box. Harry swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat when for the second time in his life, Dumbledore refused to meet his gaze when he was on trial.

Past experience showed that was never a good thing.

"Headmaster Dumbledore...", addressed the Ministry Prosecutor, an obsequious man with slicked back hair and a pencil thin moustache, "... you are Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry correct?"

"I am indeed Mr Cornwall as you no doubt remember...", replied the Headmaster as he turned his grandfatherly gaze on the prosecutor, "... Hufflepuff class of '74? I believe you had a particular penchant for Care of Magical Creatures?"

The prosecutor ignored the question in favour of pressing ahead - though he did look slightly unsettled by the Headmaster's immediate recall.

"Professor Dumbledore, in your role as Headmaster, you oversaw the education of the defendant?"

"That is correct...", said Dumbledore as he turned his twinkle up to full blast, "... I have oversight for the education of many students, of course excepting those occasions when the Ministry sees fit to remove me from my post ..."

Harry smirked as the barb landed, hope again blossoming that the Professor was going to ride to his rescue as Minister Fudge winced slightly. Since having to admit to the return of Lord Voldemort, the Headmaster had been hurriedly reinstalled at Hogwarts and all of the previous year's Educational Decrees ha been rescinded.

"Um... yes...", responded the prosecutor hurriedly clearing his throat, "... moving on to current events. You defeated the Dark Lord known as Grindelwald in 1945, is that also correct?"

If the Headmaster was surprised by the random nature of the question he did not show it and simply answered as if Mr Cornwall had asked him the time of day,

"30 April 1945 in Berlin to be exact...", replied the Headmaster calmly though his eyes lost a little of their sparkle as he was obviously reliving harrowing events that he would rather have not recalled.

The prosecutor nodded as though he had expected the answer,

"And may I ask by what method you were able to do so?"

Harry had perked up at the question, wondering whether Dumbledore would reveal the information - any information Harry could get on how to defeat a Dark Lord would no doubt come in handy. The Headmaster shook his head as he responded,

"I am afraid that even if I wished to recount those events that the record of our last battle was sealed by the I.C.W. and secrecy oaths remain in place prohibiting me from revealing that information."

The prosecutor didn't seem surprised by the response and simply moved on to his next question,

"Professor Dumbledore, does your secrecy oath allow you to confirm for the Wizengamot that while engaged in the defeat of the Dark wizard known as Gellert Grindelwald that you did not in fact use an Unforgivable curse against him?"

Dumbledore paused as if awaiting his magic determining for him whether he could reply before he nodded,

"It does. And I did not."

"Why not, if I may ask?", asked the prosecutor, not looking up from his notes, "... This was after all a Dark Lord you were facing, would you not logically use the strongest weapons available to you?"

Dumbledore's face became grave and Harry could see for a moment every one of the Headmaster's 115 years. The old man slipped his glasses from his nose and withdrew a handkerchief from his robes which he used to polish the lenses before he popped them back on again.

"I was then, as I am now - untrained in their use Mr Cornwall...", the Headmaster sighed, "... To use an unforgivable curse and to use it effectively - requires practice and a commitment to the Dark Arts that I have never had."

Harry's stomach dropped as Dumbledore's gaze flicked momentarily to meet his eyes before quickly refocusing on the prosecutor once again. Surely he couldn't think - Harry scowled, his calm fascade broken, this was Dumbledore, of course he would think...

For his part, the prosecutor paused and scribbled a notation onto his questions as he framed his next question.

"So, if for example, a sixteen-year old student - of above average raw magical power however untrained - was able to utilise the Cruciatus curse effectively enough to cause the death of another, as is the case here before this august panel - would you consider it likely that the student had only cast the curse on that one single occasion?"

Harry held his breath as he felt the tension in the room reach fever-pitch. Dumbledore's answer would either bury him or set him free. The Headmaster chose the former.

"No. No I would not."

"What?", cried Harry unable to contain himself any longer.

Pandemonium broke out in the Gallery as Remus, unable to contain his anger any longer surged to his feet and shouted at Dumbledore,

"How could you Dumble-..."

A banging gavel drowned out the remainder of Remus tirade before a silencing spell hit the Gallery silencing not only the Werewolf but all in attendance. Gesticulating wildly, Remus was led off and out of the Courtroom by a sombre looking Tonks who shot him an apologetic look before she disappeared from sight.

Harry eyes burned with a fire of betrayal as he opened his mouth to let loose at Dumbledore only to find his own voice had been silenced. Turning his attention to the bench above him, Harry saw Umbridge pocketing her wand and looking smug - no change there then. Dumbledore used the few seconds of chaos to address him directly,

"I am sorry my boy... You have left me no choice. I cannot allow you to take the same path as Tom... it is for the greater good..."

Harry glared at the old man and decided in that moment that this was going to be the last time that anyone, be it Dumbledore, Fudge or the Ministry would ever screw him over. The Headmaster had taken advantage of him, had lied to him, had held back from him the truth about why Voldemort wished him dead.

And now this. This was the last straw.

* * *

><p>Harry was actually glad of the silencing charm - though he'd never admit that to Umbridge of course. Truth be told he wasn't sure if he opened his mouth that anything other than an animalistic growl would come forth. It made no sense. Dumbledore actually had the gall to think that he'd been using Unforgivables prior to the Department of Mysteries. He should have known better. Snape had spent half the preceding year invading his mind, surely if he'd been using the Unforgivables then the greasy bat would have seen it?<p>

All of these arguments proved to be for nought as a banging gavel again drew the attention of those in the room. The Minister called for order and instructed the prosecutor to continue.

"Mr Dumbledore, is there any other information you are privy to that might sway this court's decision?"

Harry gulped silently, his Adam's apple bobbing comically - the list was substantial - if Dumbledore truly wanted to complete a hatchet job on him, and from his testimony so far that was certainly what he intended - the prosecutor was now giving him carte blanche.

"I do not seek to diminish any, the severity of Mr Potter's actions - however I would ask that the Wizengamot take into account the fact that Mr Potter shares a mental link with Voldemort...", the Headmaster paused as gasps and stifled screams reverberated around the courtroom at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, "... and that for a brief time was in fact possessed by him..."

Gasps echoed around the room as pointed whispering broke out and Harry dropped his head to his chest. He was screwed, royally screwed.

"I believe that the mental link between Vol-...", Dumbledore paused and seemed to reconsider his words given the audience's sensibilities, "... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Mr Potter has been influencing him for some time. I do not believe that his actions are entirely the result of his own desires..."

"Are you suggesting that the defendant was unaware of his actions; of their illegality?", pressed Madam Bones from the bench interrupting whatever Mr Cornwall had intended to ask.

Harry prayed that the Headmaster would say yes. That the entire disclosure would turn out to be a ploy by Dumbledore in order to have Harry declared mentally incompetent - even that would be preferable to Azkaban.

"No, certainly not. I would simply ask that the Wizengamot show leniency in not sentencing Mr Potter to the Dementor's Kiss as his crimes might not be entirely his fault... he may have been unduly influenced by his connection to Lord Voldemort..."

Harry wanted desperately to take off his glasses and scrub at his eyes in disbelief, however the chains around his wrists held him firmly in place.

"Very well, your plea is duly noted...", said Madam Bones, speaking for the first time in the proceedings and marking a ledger in front of her, "... you are dismissed Mr Dumbledore. Mr Cornwall, please call your next witness..."

Harry sat slumped in his chair for the remainder of the proceedings as he listened numbly to damning testimony from Ron and Ginny Weasley who each testified to how moody and angry Harry had been in the preceding year; Ron in particular regaling his audience with the tale of the Cobra in Second year and Harry's' being a Parselmouth - a Dark wizard's trait.

The same Mediwitch who testified earlier was then recalled in order to give testimony relating to curse scars and their mental impact upon a subject.

The more he thought about it, the more it became clear to Harry that the angry gazes he had spotted at the opening of the trial were not the result of anger for him - rather anger at him. They believed he had turned Dark. They believed that he'd tortured Bellatrix.

Dumbledore had gotten to them.

With the departure of the Mediwitch, the Wizengamot had retired to deliberate on their verdict.

Twenty-six minutes later Harry was being hauled from Courtroom Ten, sentenced to life imprisonment at Azkaban.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Little bit of background before I get into the meat of the story. I have a vague outline in my head that I keep fleshing out the more I write. Again, I hope that this is not too OOC so as to make it unreadable. I've tried to keep the justification simple and straightforward and most of all coherent.**

**I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter anyway. And as always, please review.**

**TTFN TJB**


End file.
